Category: Memoir

Taking this Show on the Road

On By MezzoSherriIn Memoir, Meta-Blogging, The Voices in My Head1 Comment

The next ten days or so are going to be a true acid test for this new “write every day” pledge. We’ve got a quick weekend trip to see the Harry Potter Exhibit in NYC, and then the exact next day after getting home from that, I’m off for a six-day business trip.*

Ages ago, when I had a long vacation planned, I wrote a short series of things to auto-post while I was abroad. (Admittedly, the execution of that idea was a touch shaky, but hey: points for trying?) I’m sure the almost-daily ritual of me whining about not having a surplus of blogging ideas will give you a solid read on the current situation.

No, Virginia, I do not have any extra posts in the bank.

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Rambling (Wo)man

On By MezzoSherriIn Memoir, Self-Acceptance, Stuff about Stuff, The Voices in My Head2 Comments

I assume it’s snowing out there by now. I can’t confirm with my own reportage, because I’ve spent most of the day in bed. Yes, that Creeping Crud came roaring in on all cylinders overnight, so my day has mostly been about sleeping, hydration, a bit of iPad gaming, trying to read and not having the clear-headedness for that, medication, more hydration, and yes, more sleeping.

Not exactly the kind of day brimming with writing material. But I don’t want to drag my achy, germ-ridden body across the house to get the “box o’ writing prompts,” either.

So what’s a gal to do?

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Waiting for Harper

On By MezzoSherriIn Gratitudes and Thank Yous, Memoir, Practicing in the Heart, UncategorizedLeave a comment

And so it begins. 

Winter has lots of possible beginnings: cultural (Monday after Thanksgiving), calendrical (December 1st), astrological (Winter Solstice), what-have-you. But in my experience as a newbie-Bostonian, I’m pretty sure that the winter storm season doesn’t begin until right about now. There have been exceptions to this, of course: a couple of our years here have had one biggish snowfall in December. But in most years, the first big snow dump seems to happen somewhere around mid-January or MLK day. And even in those years that had a single snowstorm in December, the rotating lineup of winter storms didn’t start until then.

And, right on time, Winter Storm Harper is scheduled to arrive tomorrow evening.

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Blue and red road sign, reading "Future 49"

Seven by Seven

On By MezzoSherriIn Flagrantly Feminist, MemoirLeave a comment

I was at a workshop on Saturday, and something one of the students said got me thinking about a concept that’s come up in past spiritual classes I’ve taken: the idea that your body’s cells completely replace and recycle themselves over the course of 7 years.

(N.B.: This isn’t precisely true, though it’s a potent metaphor, and one that is linked in some ways to scientific reality.*)

And as I thought briefly about this concept of 7-year cycles in human life, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

‘That’s why my year is off to such a start!’

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#loveiscompany

On By MezzoSherriIn Gratitudes and Thank Yous, Memoir, Practicing in the Heart, Self-AcceptanceLeave a comment

It occurs to me that when I was writing about the show last week, I may accidentally have created a false sense of opposition between the gifts the production gave me and the insights I was exploring around fatness and self-hatred. That’s not exactly the case.

I mean, don’t get me wrong: it was hella sobering to face up to the self-hatred. (I kind of imagine some wacky Dorian-Grey-like scenario, only with me gazing into a mirror with some twisted and bestial reflection.) Nevertheless, I am also profoundly grateful for this deeper level of awareness. You can’t clear what you don’t acknowledge, and so I am grateful to Spirit for bringing me this wake-up in the guise of a theatrical part.

So, yes, count this new awareness, however uncomfortable the truth may be, to be one of the production’s gifts to me.

But there were other, more ribbon-wrapped sorts of gifts, too.

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The Shape I’m In

On By MezzoSherriIn Health at Every Size, Memoir, Self-Acceptance, The Voices in My Head1 Comment

One of the main living-my-life endeavors that has occupied my time and energy during my “forgetting how to write” patch was doing a show. Yes, after all was said and done, I got a part in that Sondheim show I blogged about back in May, when I was convinced I hadn’t passed muster. Go figure.

The show was Sondheim’s Company, which, for the uninitiated, circles on a group of friends in 1970 NYC: one single guy/womanizer (Bobby), 3 of his girlfriends, and 5 married couples who use their get-togethers with Bobby as a way to ease/escape whatever tensions are going on within the marital bond.

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Use Your Words

On By MezzoSherriIn Gratitudes and Thank Yous, Memoir, Meta-Blogging2 Comments

It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write right now.

As with so many autobiographical things I say here on JALC (auto-blogographical?), that statement has a bit of hyperbole to it. In the workplace context, I am as verbose with the proposal-writing as I have ever been. (Which is a damn good thing, considering our deadline calendar for the summer.)

But I have not been writing anything in my out-of-work time. Nothing here, nothing on Will4Will, not even anything in my journal.

Not a good pattern.

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A Qualitative Judgement

On By MezzoSherriIn Memoir, Self-Acceptance, Stuff about Stuff, The Voices in My Head5 Comments

Well, the decluttering death march continues at its snail’s pace.

Yeah, that’s hyperbole. Not so much about the “snail’s pace” bit, but more the self-indulgent and ham-handed analogy. After all, struggling with the quote-unquote burden of too much abundance in my life and home is the Firstiest of First World Problems, wouldn’t you say?

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Nesting

On By MezzoSherriIn Memoir, Self-Acceptance, Stuff about Stuff1 Comment

Mr. Mezzo and I spent last weekend playing tourist in Boston–a long weekend scheduled ostensibly to celebrate his birthday. In all honesty, that was just a convenient excuse to take a day off from work and enjoy the city sights without having to worry about T schedules or keeping a designated driver to get us safely home from the T station.

Our hotel room had a windowsill-sized balcony–seriously, I don’t think it was wide enough for me to close the door behind me when I stood out there. Perhaps because it wasn’t the kind of hotel balcony likely to get a lot of foot traffic, a small bird had built its nest under the corner of the balcony awning.

Back when I lived in the heart of Philly, I remember being constantly awestruck by the continued preponderance of nature and wildlife in that urban setting, and the unending creativity shown by these creatures in building their homes among the asphalt and concrete.

The epitome of blooming where one is planted.

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